


but strangely he feels at home in this place

by Indominus_Gaming



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hanahaki Disease, Hurt No Comfort, Major character death - Freeform, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Platonic Love, Unrequited Love, Wilbur Soot and Technoblade and TommyInnit are Siblings, phil isn’t the best dad but he’s not a bad one either
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-15 13:34:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28814247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Indominus_Gaming/pseuds/Indominus_Gaming
Summary: Wilbur’s family loved him, they did! So what if they rarely ever acknowledge or talked to him? They still loved him!The petals on his hands disagree with that statement.
Relationships: Phil Watson & Wilbur Soot
Comments: 3
Kudos: 84





	but strangely he feels at home in this place

**Author's Note:**

> I listened to some sad songs, then I read some sad fanfiction, and then this happened. So yeah Wilangst!
> 
> Title is from This Is Home by Cavetown

Ever since Wilbur had been little one thing had always stood out to him; how he was at the bottom of the food chain in the family. Phil sat on top, the parent and the one who gives out his everlasting love, then there was Techno and Tommy, Techno a bit in front of the youngest, and the there was  Tubbo , Tommy’s friend, and lastly there was Wilbur, the last to be acknowledged and the first to be blamed. How pathetic, a family  friend outranked him in the chain. But Wilbur was okay with this! Because even with all of this his family stilled loved him, even if it wasn’t as much as the others. They really did! Didn’t they? Surely they must...

But then the petals came up, purple hyacinth, blue rose, and yellow carnations all coming out of his throat. And so his fantasies of hope shattered, the love he thought was there nothing but his own imagination. It pained Wilbur to watch them then, to see them all be so happy without him. To see a family that was his, yet he was not theirs. 

So Wilbur thought what he did was right, he ran away, scattered flowers falling after his steps. Friends worried for him, looked searched and called, but he just ran away. He loved them all, he really did, but he refused to have them all watch as he withered away from a love he could not have. 

Surprisingly no one seemed to notice him, no one cared or payed attention to the teen with the backpack who just wandered. As the weeks went on the coughing got worse and now full, blooming, flowers came up with just hints of blood of them. It was then he knew it was getting closer, the real timer on his life was now ticking away.

Decided that he at least wanted to die somewhere he loved he turned around, heading back to where he had once ran from. But he was not going him, no his destination was the beech just a quick drive away from their home. It was one of the few places his dad seemed to pay attention to him and focus solely on him and no one else. 

The walk was long and tiresome, but he would reach that beech and have his peaceful ending. Because whilst he might not be able to change history he can make the ending he wants.

Wilbur’s first steps into his hometown were those of a dying man on his last day alive, the knowledge of his fast approaching end just something that would happen and nothing to worry about. Thanking every god he didn’t believe in that it was night he headed down to the beech, feet automatically taking him to the group of rocks he has so many memories with. Playing with his brother’s, back when he still interacted with them more than just a quick morning greeting, joking around with friends, playing the guitar, all of those happy little things in life.

With tired bones he heaved himself onto the rocks, moving until he was facing the ocean’s horizon whilst laying on the flat rock. The first rays of morning peaked out over blue waves, and his chest constricted as flowers escaped him violently, the only thing helping them come out smoothly enough being the blood they brought up with them. Wilbur felt his eyes slowly close, but despite that his gaze never left the sunrise. There were no flowers to block the view actively, the light morning breeze carrying away any that did.

Wilbur, with the last of his strength, picked up one each of the three flowers and brought them close to his heart. Because despite this love being his alone, he still cherished it. 

And so, Wilbur Soot, seized to be. 

** ——————————————— **

When Wilbur had disappeared pure chaos broke out. 

Tommy had gone up to wake him for breakfast, only to find he wasn’t there. When he told the other three, Tubbo had stayed the night, they started looking, asking anyone and everyone. But nothing came up, not even a trace of him was discovered. He wasn’t with any of his friends, and he hadn’t told any of them anything at all.

Weeks passed and everyone just grew more concerned. Tommy tried to remember of Wilbur had said something recently, only to realize the only thing he could really remember was just saying good morning every day but nothing else. When he brought it up with Techno and Tubbo they both agreed with him, they hadn’t talked with Wilbur in so long it was hard to remember him saying anything other than a quite greeting. Phil didn’t remember much more, maybe just a few small words here and there but nothing else. And slowly, oh so painfully slowly, did the family realize their mistakes. The new discovery just fueled them even more.

It had just been a day like any other when Phil had the sudden urge to go to the beech. The beech was where he could recall the most about his missing son, so one days where the ache in his heart was worse he flew there and just pretended that Wilbur wasthere with him. 

The walk was the same, the people who he saw were as well, and they beech too. But what wasn’t the same was the body on the rocks. From a distance it looked like nothing more than a black blob, but as he walked closer he recognized Wilbur’s backpack and coat. Sprinting through the sand, stumbling along as he went, he desperately ran towards his son. But as he got closer he could smell it, the copper and flora scent drenching the are like a heavy smoke cloud. Phil, with shaking hands, gently tuned the body of his son around, turning him onto his back. And a harsh sob tore through his throat as his blue eyes met the dull and dead brown ones that belonged to his son. Flowers flowed out of his mouth like an overgrown temple, blood smearing Wilbur’s chin as well as the flowers petals.

Phil brought the cold body of his son close, uncaring of the blood and flower petals covering him. He could care less about being covered, all that matter was that he found his son and that he was too late to save. Wilbur had died alone, so close to home yet so far away. The fathers sobs and cries echoed over the empty rock formation, kneeling in mountains of flowers, tears mixing with the blood and petals.

He sat there for so long, the blood on his clothes drying, just holding a precious son taken from him far too soon. And it was no ones fault but but his own, him and complete disregard of a son he hadn’t ever deserved.

Wilbur might have died to the disease, but Phil couldn’t help but feel like it had been him who’d killed his son.


End file.
